


Try to hold me near

by empires



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Injustice: Gods Among Us
Genre: Bodyswap, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Minor Violence, Possession, injustice verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 10:30:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18636331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empires/pseuds/empires
Summary: written for the jaydick flash fanwork challeng prompt: bodyswap





	Try to hold me near

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks for elwon and solomanara for the drive-by beta reading! the story is strong with your help. and thanks to k for the hand holding and idea shepharding.

The door swings open and two women enter the coffee shop, laughing and swiping wet hair from their faces. The rain is unexpected on this summer’s day, and for a moment, Dick is tempted to step outside and feel it for himself. The impulse is quickly thwarted. The goal is to blend in while waiting for his contact to arrive.

He keeps an eye on the people flowing through the shop while tapping idly on the laptop. The after-lunch crowd is sparse, a few aspiring writers tucked in their territorial corners, a literature student, judging by weighty text in their hands, and a few post-meal pick-me-up workers on their way back to the office. Even with the heavy gray clouds shrouding the shop, the patrons look content, alive in a way Dick isn’t anymore.

Inhabiting a new body takes a certain level of adjustment. Dick tries to observe a host before possession, but he’s still new at this, being dead, inheriting Deadman’s mantle, forging an undead life. There are more than a few unknowns. He’s not entirely sure where the other person goes. Their consciousness fades, but their memories remain, mental as well as muscle. Dick’s been twirling a pen through his fingers non-stop since he began reading through this paper. It’s done skillfully, without thought, grasping for a pen the second he puts it down.

“Been waiting long?” Jason murmurs his greeting before sitting. He sets down two ceramic mugs and scoots one across the small table. He offers a tight smile, quick and confident before taking a sip of his espresso.

One day Dick will remember to ask Jason how he always recognizes him. No matter the body he’s possessing, child or adult, male or female, Jason knows within seconds.

“Not very long, no.” Dick blinks in surprise after hearing Charles De Carlo’s voice. It feels far deeper than he thought it was. And it’s unsettling to hear when his thoughts still sound like his voice. Humming, Dick touches his throat to feel the depths of the vibration.

“What are you doing?”

Dick finds Jason’s attention on him, a steely, curious thing. “Just wondering about this voice. It’s weird to hear another person when I speak. Bet it’s a great singing voice.”

Jason offers him a wry smile. “Trying to live your dreams of a strong baritone on Broadway, huh?”

“I don’t think so,” Dick says, eyes rolling.

“Acapella group then. You know, I saw an ad down at the Wire,” he laughs at the look Dick throws him, which feels stiff on this new face. “I get out more than you think.”

“Then why am I doing all your leg work,” Dick grouses. “And before you toss out any more suggestions, no. No acapella groups or barber shop quintets.”

Jason waves dismissively. “You’ve got time to figure it out.”

“I really don’t,” Dick replies. “Something about the lack of social media presence in this guy’s phone tells me he’s not very outgoing.” And Dick isn’t about to push a person into some bizarre adventure, even if Charles needs a swift kick. He clears his search history and then closes Charles’ laptop.

It’s one of the many self-imposed rules he’s built into the Deadman legacy since it didn’t come with a hand book. Boston Brand’s parting words were short before he faded into the nether realm. “Never stay too long in one place, kid, otherwise you might just get stuck. But you shouldn’t have any trouble with that. We circus folks never do.”

So, never stay in a body for more than six hours unless it was an emergency. Never put a civilian in danger. Always leave a host exactly how you left them. Don’t interfere in their lives. That last one is the hardest, but Dick’s doing okay so far.

“Enough chit chat,” Dick says. “Let me tell you what I’ve learned.”

This is how it is now. Dick haunts the sidelines of his former life helping his family, friends, and fellow vigilantes. And that’s a lot more often than he expected, because Rama Kushna rarely summons him into her service. Building a rapport with the goddess is on the top of his to-do list. In the meantime, he keeps an eye and helps where he can. Jason finds him useful at least, is one of the few people he comes to with direct information.

Dick delivers the findings from tailing the Lunatics, smugglers dealing in stolen weapons tech, and their move towards Bludhaven. The information seems almost trivial now that he thinks about it. Two rumors confirmed, access into their financials, the digital trail they lock behind online car sales, and an enforcer who likes to travel to Gotham’s core district when he’s looking for action. Jason takes it all in though, no interruptions, just focus on Dick’s--Charles’ face for the first run. He grills Dick quietly on the second pass in between sips of espresso and the quiet steps of patrons veering too close.

“That’s good intel,” Jason says, when he’s finally exhausted Dick and the coffee has dried to a sad little ring in the bottom of their cups. “Thanks.”

“What are you gonna do with it?” If he’s too forceful in his question, Jason doesn’t react to it. He merely checks his watch, a slight frown on his lips.

“I’ll let you know. Hey….”

“You’re about to leave.”

“Yeah.” A pause. “Want me to wait for you to pack up?”

Holding a smile back doesn’t feel difficult for Charles. “Yeah. Give me a minute.”

They walk out the door and into early Gotham fog. Shielding his eyes, Dick follows Jason down the block, nimbly sidestepping oncoming foot traffic, amazed all over again at how bright the world is on a cloudy day. City lights twist and glow all around him refracting and swirlinging through the tiny drops of water. The cool grip of it settles around his shoulders, weighs at his hair. Drops of water slide down the back of his neck, and he shivers. It’s so different from the spirit world, where illumination is a memory that the dark seeks to swallow whole.

They walk in silence, which is nice. Jason brushes against his side from time to time so infrequently it must be on purpose. Dick pushes into him once, a little, _I’m here with you_ , shove, then he ducks his head, embarrassed by the way his chest aches at the thought.

Eventually, the crowds thin. The streets grow quiet. Dick begins dodging overflowing trash bins on the sidewalk. Jason disappears into a silent alleyway so seamlessly Dick would swear he was never there. But Dick’s been trained as well, and it’s comparatively easy to steer Charles’ lanky body forward and then out of sight.

“This your stop?” Dick’s voice barely carries in the narrow ally, muffled by mist and palettes, brick and recycling.

“Yeah. Gonna start patrol for the night. Someone’s gotta fight for the old girl,” Jason says. And it’s true. Someone has to, and that person has always been Jason. When Batman’s gaze turned to the stars and Nightwing circled the globe, when Superman nearly turned the world inside out, it was always Jason.

“Gotham’s finest,” Dick says in a voice rough with feeling. He’s kind of tired of Charles’ voice now. It doesn’t project or take inflection well.

Jason hesitates. It’s only for a moment, but the shift of his expression lasts forever. He steps close, but somehow Dick doesn’t expect the hand to fold over his. For Jason’s skin to be so warm. His skin tingles. Dick touches his own cheek, surprised. This body is blushing.

“Hey,” Jason says. “Seriously. You alright?”

“I’m good. Great. We should.” He trails off with a tiny laugh. There’s not a fully formed suggestion in his mind but he doesn’t want this moment to end, not when he’s feeling useful. Not when he’s feeling something at all.

“We should do this again.”

“Yeah. We should,” Jason agrees. “Come by my place on Easton in two days. I'll be ready to make a move by then.”

Dick narrows his eyes. “And what am I supposed to do?”

“Whatever you think you need to. This mission can do with a little mayhem.” Jason pulls a grapple gun from behind his back. The action sends Dick’s gaze up. Up through the growing fog, up above the wet streets and the crumbling asphalt. Rising above the sweltering stink, the flood of bullets, the weight of the world.

He used to think it was the only way to travel. And then he died.

“I’ll check my schedule. See if I can pencil you in.”

“You do that, Nightwing. If not, I’ll run into you again.” The gun pops and the grapple spirals into the sky. Jason follows, twirling up and away, above it all.

Dick stands in the shadows for a very long time, eyes raised, remembering.

 

* * *

 

Two days later, Dick follows Jason from Easton to Gotham’s southside and makes the mistake of stepping in to help. In hindsight, Jason really didn’t need it.

It’s just Dick’s luck that he managed to pick the low-level gang member that likes to dabble in his own stash. His head is hazy and his movements off, and since Red Hood is methodically knocking his targets out in rapid succession, Dick doesn’t have the time to jump into a more viable host. He shoulders the backpack filled with evidence and stumbles up another flight of steps.

The narrow stairwell is dark, so dark he misses the body huddling in the corner. They collide, and Dick drops to his knees. A high giggle slips from his mouth.

“What more could go wrong? Seriously?” His hiss ends in another giggle.

“Kyle?”

Shit. Dick blinks rapidly until he makes out a shadowy face, confused eyes.

“Kyle what the fuck are you doing, man?”

They both startle at the sudden gunfire rattling above them. Dick scrambles into action. Gunfire means more men. More men means Red Hood might need backup.

“Wait! Kyle. Don’t go out there man, hold up.”

The other gang member follows him to the landing. They burst onto the warehouse catwalk, Dick swaying heavily under the gang members weight when he comes to a complete stop. Red Hood stands before them, guns cocked.

“Shit,” Dick whispers. He immediately raises his hands, but the poor sap behind him panics. A muffled shriek sounds right behind Dick’s ear, and then Red Hood is moving. His fist shoots out, power unleashed quicker than Dick can draw breath, but he manages, “Hood wai--,” before air whooshes past his ear.

The gang member drops to the ground with a moan. Red Hood kneels at his side to apply the zip strip before looking up at Dick.

For a moment, he wonders if the red mask had always been so intimidating. Expressionless with the faintest glow about the eyes. Then Red Hood rises to his feet. A fist closes around Dick’s collar and he’s dragged back into the stairwell. An involuntary yelp slips free. Another when the door clangs shut. Dick’s drenched in nervous sweat and his heart starts pounding.

Red Hood’s voice cuts through the silence, modulated and soft in the dark. “Deadman?”

“God yes it’s me,” Dick exclaims in a rush. Relief washes up like a wave leaving Dick dizzy and weak. He sways unsteady as the ground pitches beneath his feet. Suddenly warm gloves slide up the back of his neck and his cheek, pushing damp hair from his face before releasing him.

“You don’t look so good.”

“Picked the wrong one this time. The Lunatics are dabbling in methamphetamine trade. Kyle skimmed the stash.”

“You don’t say.” Jason’s voice is flat, but Dick ruffles all the same.

“This whole thing? Hopping into someone during an emergency? Harder than it looks. And the right body is hard to come by. That sounds terrible, huh?” Dick says ruefully. He swings the backpack around, struggles with the zipper. His fingers tremble and sweat worse than his neck.

“I got it.” Even with the modulator, Dick can hear Jason now, the persona slipping as Jason takes the bag from Dick and opens it easily. He trips through the collection of thumb drives, cell phones, and notebooks. “What’s this?”

“Everything you need to tie this ring to the Reinhold Group. This guy was trying to destroy it.”

Jason closes the backpack. “Thanks. For this,” he shakes the evidence, “And for having my back.”

“Oh, well. What else was I gonna do on a Friday night?” It’s the question he asked himself before following Jason down to the drop point. Neither he nor Red Hood expected to find the gang in the middle of moving their lab to a new location, nor the women secured in the shipping crates along with their equipment along with a half-million dollars worth of drug products.

“Yeah. Batgirl’s secured the women, and I’ve called the ambulance to assist them. I’ll let them know about this guy.”

“Guess this is it, huh?” His voice sounds weak and desperate. He scrubs jittery fingers through Kyle’s string hair and huffs a laugh. “Which is good. Kyle's coming down hard. I shouldn’t stay in here for much longer.”

Head cocked to the side, Jason stares at him for a long moment, but he doesn’t say anything. He secures the backpack and slides his grapple gun from a thigh holster. Dick follows the action, licks his lips, looks away, looks back to see the soft glow still fixed to his face.

Jason’s grip flexes on the gun grip. “Look. D. Deadman. If you’re looking for a safe host, you know where to find me. Anytime you want. No questions asked.”

Jason could’ve smacked Dick in the face, and he would’ve been less shocked. His heart gives a mighty kick in his chest and his throat closes so his next words are choked. Emotions affecting the body.

“What?”

“You heard me. Just think about it,” Jason says, leaving Dick to ascend from the host body, thoughts jumbled for an entirely new reason.

 

* * *

 

After ten days and a quick jaunt through the spirit world as a glorified singing telegram, it’s official: Dick puts the “d” in dithering. He’s spent hours floating in the ever-dark of the spirit realm above Gotham trying to come to terms with Jason Peter Todd.

How is he even supposed to take that proposal? It wasn’t a joke. Jason’s low tone, his reserve meant that he’d been serious in his offer to allow Dick to possess his body. But he couldn’t have been serious. Although, Dick can barely remember a time when Jason wasn’t serious or honest about his intentions.

The irony of his vigilante persona origins aside, Jason has always been fiercely independent. He’s uniquely, stubbornly individual, much like the rest of the so-called bat-family. It must be pity. Guilt. They’ve all said and done strange things for those emotions. Sentiment too. Jason’s probably grateful for Dick’s help and that’s why he made such a strange offer.

But Jason also knows his mind and only speaks the hard, bitter truth. A loner with a small circle of friends, Jason never invites people in. He rarely volunteers vulnerability and certainly never to Dick. If he’s offered to play host to Dick’s lingering spirit, he meant it.... Didn’t he?

Rather than spend another ten days circling the same thoughts, Dick changes directions mid-flight shooting through the ever-dark towards Gotham’s east side. He’d simply observe Jason and see how serious his proposal had been.

Like all vigilantes in Gotham, Jason keeps a network of safe houses scattered in various parts of Gotham. The Easton bolthouse is the top two floors of a mixed-use storefront in a quiet, family-oriented neighborhood, far different than the warehouse stock rooms and underground dens Dick had become accustomed to. The bottom floor houses a bicycle shop that Dick recently learned is about to celebrate a three-year anniversary. The shop is closed this time of day. Dick floats through the exterior brick, tingling not unpleasantly when he phases through the electrical wires and enters Jason’s apartment.

Two lamps fill the living space with a warm, cherry glow. Jason sits on the couch, one foot tucked beneath his thigh while he carefully shakes the wrinkles from a clean shirt. The television and captions are on, but the sound is off. Jason listens to the music echoing from the speakers. A shirt is tossed into small basket before Jason picks up another beginning the process all over again.

It’s a quiet, mundane evening, and Dick aches with the normalcy of it all. He envies. He wants. Those conflicting thoughts whirl through Dick’s head as he steps from the spirit world to the plane of existence.

On the couch, Jason tilts his head up and then turns to spear the place Dick stands with a look, adding a new layer to the mystery of how he always knows Dick’s around.

“Is that you, Dickie? Or do I need to call Jimmy? Wait.” Jason reaches under the tiny coffee table and pulls out a blue transistor radio, muttering, “I’m about to feel really silly if it isn’t you.”

The music gradually lowers until it's completely off. 

Communicating with the living is hard. Very few people are sensitive to the supernatural, and Dick is only eight months into the Deadman gig. His powers are growing, but he doesn’t have the same relationship with the goddess and he’s slow to learn on his own. Through trial and error Dick has discovered communicating through radio waves is much simpler than projecting his voice directly. He doesn’t expend as much energy either. Bonus points for that.

Dick settles his incorporeal form into a comfortable slouch just above the couch. Without muscles and bones, it’s just as comfortable to float above as it is to settle into the couch. Focusing on the feathery wave of the electromagnetic spectrum, and when he finds the right thread, Dick folds his metaphysical fingers around it and speaks.

“Who’s Jimmy?” His voice crackles over the radio.

“Not what I thought you’d open with,” Jason says. “He’s my electrician.”

“You have a problem with your lights?”

Jason shakes his head. “Sometimes when you arrive like this,” he waves a hand indicating all that he cannot see. “The lights flicker. But I do have a short somewhere so.”

Dick’s gaze wanders at that bit of information. He studies the apartment’s narrow lines. Drywall and insulation padded around the frame which is seeded with wires. Power that he can see. No signs of a short in here though. Perhaps Dick sits too long without answering for Jason, who is both patience and impatience personified. He breaks the silence.

“You here about my offer,” Jason states. “I know what I said, I’m not going to change my mind, and I don’t want sit here and debate with you all night if you’re gonna say no.”

Energy thrums through Dick’s fingers. “That’s fair. I know it’s something you wouldn’t offer lightly, but Jason, there’s still a lot I don’t know about all this.”

“You have concerns. I expected that.”

“More than concerns. I don’t know where people go when I’m in control of their bodies. I definitely don’t know what happens when I possess someone who is aware of me.”

“Do they come back unharmed?”

“Well, yes, but--” Dick’s cut off by Jason’s expressive shrug.

“I don’t see a downside in it for me then.” Jason’s expression is calm, thoughtful even, and his gaze seems to meet Dick’s for a moment. A foolish idea, but an idea that makes the memory of his insides flutter.

“This is serious, Jay. What if something happens to you while I’m in there? What if,” Dick heaves a deep sigh. “What if I like it too much? What if I want to do it again?”

It’s the main argument against possessing Jason’s body. Already it’s a struggle to leave a body. To give up the pull of gravity, the weight of limbs, the simple actions of breathing, blinking, and feeling his muscles stretch and move as he exerts himself.

Jason gives him a wry grin. “I kind of expect you to. Have you met me? Have you looked at this body? You’re gonna have a great time.”

The reply is unexpected, and Dick’s laugh burbles and cracks across the radio waves.

“It doesn’t have to be a one-time thing either. But like I said before, I’m really not interested in an extended debate. If you're considering it, here’s the deal in more clear terms. I’m offering you an opportunity to take me for a ride. Three hours, six hours, a whole day. You’d have carte blanche. Do whatever you want to do. See whoever you need to see. And if it eases your conscience, there’s the added bonus that I’ll be able to communicate the experience back to you.

“I know it won’t be the same, but. I can still fly, pretty bird.” Jason flips the hand resting on his knee palm up. His head tilts towards Dick and that knowing gaze seems to meet his again. “I’ll always fly for you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Dick places his hand in Jason's. For a brief moment, he feels a spark. Warmth infuses him even though it shouldn’t.

“Little wing,” he whispers, heartsick by the very idea of Jason saying things like this. Offering his body to him like this. Jason’s fingers curl up and they’re not holding hands, but they are. Dick can feel it.

“What’s it gonna take for you to say yes?”

Dick closes his eyes knowing the decision was made the second he put his hand in Jason’s. “Everything that you just said, apparently. I’m going to do it. We’ll swap bodies or whatever. We need to firm up those ground rules,” he warns, “And only for four hours this time.”

“This time, huh?” Jason sounds amused, but when Dick opens his eyes, his expression radiates only gentle calm. “Good. When do you want to do this?”

“How about tonight?” Dick asks, recognizing that he needs to do this now or not at all.

“Lucky for you it’s just a quiet evening at home for the Red Hood. I’m all yours.”

Dick floats until he’s in front of Jason and smiles when Jason's unfocused gaze stays at his last position.

“Look straight ahead and we then we can get started.”

Jason turns to face him, and he’s smiling, soft and warm. He gives their hands a little squeeze, one Dick still feels, then releases to spread his arms wide open. “I’m ready, Dickie.”

“Here I come,” Dick whispers, and with a ripple of relief, Dick surges forward.


End file.
